


i've got nowhere left to dream (so i'll just stay awake)

by mr_charles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, F/F, Femslash, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 16:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6761617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_charles/pseuds/mr_charles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>President Baratheon is dead. Vice President Stark decides his family needs protection. Former military Brienne Tarth gets the joy of looking after Sansa, who just wants a normal college life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've got nowhere left to dream (so i'll just stay awake)

It starts when President Baratheon is dies in a freak hunting accident involving a shotgun and a tree stump. He told Jaime he didn’t need him or his President’s Guard and splat!— the nation is down a president. At first it was easy to point the finger at First Wife Cersei Baratheon, showing up not two days later at a fashion gala wearing nothing but red velvet and gold ribbons. But then that tox screen came back and showed that President Baratheon had a cocktail of painkillers (old war wound), hard alcohol, and a high grade anti-depressant in his bloated belly.So it falls on Vice President Stark to take over things while Counsel tries to figure out what the hell to do. Ain’t been a dead president since Aerys died back in ’81. 

The first matter of business for Ned is to get everyone a bodyguard. Nobody takes a piss without their guard knowing where they are. Having been a political family, the Starks are used to suited guards around the house. But now Ned wants each and every kid of his to have their own. 

Robb’s out fighting some desert war, so he doesn’t need a guard. Jon recently got himself promoted to Commander of the outpost up north, just west of Who Fuckin’ Knows. Arya got her weapons license before she was even in middle school, keeping a gun stashed in her backpack called Needle.

(“You don’t want someone pointing a needle at you, just like you don’t want _this_ pointed at you!”, she had said the day Jon had presented her with the gun, gleaming pearl in the sunlight.)

Bran was still wobbly on his arm braces, learning how to walk again after he got hit by that car. He said he never saw the driver but sometimes in his dreams, he sees the gleam of the First Wife’s hair. And Rickon, still a child, trailed after Catelyn when he wasn’t in daycare. 

And Sansa is currently throwing a hissy fit over Ned’s announcement that this family needs protecting.

“I’m 18!” she wailed. “I don’t _need_ a bodyguard!”

“Sansa, my sweet,” Catelyn had said softly. “Our President is dead. Your father is set to take his place. We can’t risk losing any of you.”

“Joffery _never_ had a bodyguard!”

“That’s because nobody ever wanted within 15 feet of that little prick,” Ned muttered into his scotch. 

“I’ll buy a gun?” Sansa offered. “I’ll take self defense lessons! I’ll turn the GPS tracker on my phone! I’ll call you every 15 minutes!”

“You can do all that!” Catelyn said. “And have your bodyguard right behind you!” She kissed her daughter on the cheek and left. 

“I hate you,” Sansa scowled, looking at her father.

“Love you, too, sweetie.”

 

“Assuming you all did the reading, who can tell me what Marx says when he refers to ‘historical materialism’? Miss Poole?”

Jeyne shrinks in her seat next to Sansa in the crowded lecture hall. “He means…historically…we’re all…capitalists?”

Professor Tyrell chuckles along with the class.”Do your reading for next week, Miss Poole. So if you’ll all turn to page 352 in—“ A pause. “Can I help you?” Tyrell says, looking at a spot near the door in the back of class. 

“I’m here with Miss Stark, sir.” A gruff but female voice says. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Tyrell shrugs but carries on with the lesson.

Sansa flushes a deep red and stares at her desk for the remainder of class. 

 

“Miss Stark, my name is Brienne Tarth and I’m here to—“ Sansa says nothing, pushing past the woman and following Jeyne out of class. 

“Jeyne! Library?”

Jeyne looks at the woman standing behind Sansa. Tall, taller than Sansa, blonde, wearing a suit with blue shirt and rosy tie, with the tell-tale sign of a gun holster under her fitted blazer. 

“Uh,” Jayne stutters, “I actually have a study da— session with Theon, y’know? The TA? I’ll see ya later, Sansa.”

“Miss Stark?”

“Nope,” is all Sansa says, striding back to her car and driving back to her apartment. 

 

Brienne is standing in her living room when Sansa pushes through the door. 

“How did you get in here?”

“Miss Stark, my name is Brienne Tarth,” Brienne says again. “Your father hired me to look after you. I trained under President’s Guardsman Jaime Lannister. I have 4 years of combat experience, two of which were protecting Secretary Renly Baratheon. I began defense training at the age of 13 and have been certified with—“

“That’s really nice, Brienne, but I don’t need a bodyguard. Now go back to defense training or whatever it is you do and leave me alone!”

Brienne ignores her and focuses on pulling out the hidden bed in Sansa’s second-hand sofa. “That’s nice, Miss Stark, but I answer to your father. Not you. Now where’s your linen closet?”

 

Sansa tries to go about her regular life with Brienne hovering around her. First Brienne follows her on her walk to the co-op for dinner. Then Brienne trails her into the mini-mart for milk and eggs. Then Brienne sits at her kitchenette and calls her father while Sansa makes pasta. Unsure of what to do, Sansa makes enough for two people. Brienne looks hesitant as Sansa slides a plate in front of her.

“It’s not poisoned,” Sansa says. “Unless you have a shellfish allergy.”

“I love shellfish.” 

 

Dinner is awkward. 

“So,” Sansa starts, “why the military?”

“Dad was military,” Brienne says. “But ma only had stillborn boys. She died when I was 3 but I wanted to make dad proud.” She shrugs. “I’m never gonna be a five-star general but this beats being on some base in the Fingers.”

“I went to the Fingers once,” Sansa shudders at the memory. “Treasury Secretary Baelish took me on a trip there when I was 15. Mom said I needed to see more of the country. I saw some sheep. I ate some shitty fruit. It _sucked_.”

“So, you got the full tour package to the Fingers?” Brienne jokes. “But, oh sheesh, with Baelish? That’s worse than the Fingers themselves.”

 

“I’l be just out here if you need anything, Miss Stark,” Brienne says, fluffing pillows on the couch bed. “I’m a light sleeper.”

“Brienne,” Sansa says firmly. “I don’t need you. So take some Ambien and sleep until 2pm if you want to.”

At 1am, Sansa gets up to get some juice. Brienne is sound asleep, face down in the pillows. She looks less like a hardened military woman and more like the exhausted 20-something she is. Sansa feels a pull of something and gently pulls the thin blanket up over Brienne’s shoulders. 

 

Brienne follows her to Political Science.

Brienne follows her to the gym.

Brienne stands outside the women’s locker room.

Brienne follows her to her coffee date with Jeyne.

Brienne follows her to Chemistry.

Brienne follows her to Valyrian.

Brienne follows her to dinner at her parents’ house.

 

“So how are classes?” Catelyn asks cordially.

“Well I have a giantess following me around all day. I get stared at. I get laughed at. People take pictures!”

“But you know what’s not happening?”

“Uh, people aren't talking to me anymore?

Catelyn tweaks Sansa’s nose. “You’re not being attacked.”

Sansa sighs into her salad. 

 

For two months, Brienne becomes the shadow that Sansa can’t shake. When Sansa tries to go to a college-sponsored party, Brienne stands by the door of the gymnasium, blazer pulled back to expose the gun on her hip. Nobody dances with Sansa, except Jeyne. At 11pm, Brienne pulls Sansa aside.

“Miss Stark, I’m going to recommend you call it a night. It’s getting late.”

Sansa wants to fight but realizes she’s spent the last hour and a half sitting on a plastic chair and nursing a root beer float. “I hate you,” she mumbles.

“Miss Stark?”

“Nothing.”

 

At 1am, she gets a text from Jeyne. It’s just an address, with a photo of Jeyne and Theon doing shots together. Quickly, she throws on her cutest party dress and with her high heels in hand, sneaks past Brienne snuffling on the couch bed and out her front door.

The party is at Margaery Tyrell’s place and Sansa can hear the music blasting as soon as she turns down the block. Jeyne greets her with a drunken hug and a red plastic cup full of something that smells like pineapple and nail polish remover. 

“How’d you shake that big bitch?” Jeyne yells over the music.

“She doesn’t know I’m here!”

Margaery’s brother, Loras, teaches Sansa how to play beer pong. Jeyne and Theon sneak off to a bedroom somewhere. 

“Hey Sansa!” Margaery calls her to the other side of her crowded living room. “I’m sorry about that whole Joffrey thing!”

“Oh? About how you stole my boyfriend and then broke his heart so badly that he tried to kill himself?” Sansa is drunk and bitchy. “It’s totally forgotten about!”

Margaery doesn’t catch on to Sansa’s sarcasm and shrieks as Sansa upends her cup all over Margaery’s perfect curls. 

 

“Yo!” A guy yells. “Girl fight!”

 

Sansa is taller than Margaery and manages to pin her to the floor while clawing at her face. “I loved him!”

“Well I guess he didn’t love you!” Margaery shouts, tugging on Sansa’s hair.

Sansa’s too drunk to get her punches right but gets a few weak hits on Margaery’s face before someone is pulling her off of the girl.

“Let go of me, Loras!” Sansa yells, wriggling in the firm grip.

“Miss Stark!” Brienne shouts over the music. 

Sansa goes limp. Margaery is crying. Someone has turned the radio off. Several people are laughing. 

“Let’s get you home, Miss Stark,” Brienne says softly, tossing Sansa over her shoulder and carrying her the two blocks back to her own apartment. Sansa cries the whole way there.

 

Brienne stays up all night with Sansa, holding her hair back as she vomits into the toilet. 

“Don’t tell mom or dad,” Sansa sobs out between heaves.

“I won’t,” Brienne says, rubbing Sansa’s back. “I work for you, not them.”

Sansa smiles at Brienne before retching into the toilet.

 

At first light, Brienne is able to get Sansa to drink some cold water. “Let’s get you to bed, Miss Stark,” she says, lifting her up and leading her into the her bedroom. She searches through Sansa’s dresser until she finds an old t-shirt that says “VISIT… _THE FINGERS!_ ” on it and a pair of pajama shorts.

Sansa is half-asleep on her bed, still wearing her party dress and high heels. Gently, Brienne slides the shoes off her feet. “Miss Stark, I’m sorry,” she says, pushing up and pulling off Sansa’s dress. She gets the shorts and t-shirt on and gets her rearranged in her bed before leaving and clicking the door shut. 

 

Brienne manages a catnap or two before Sansa stumbles out of her room at 2pm. Her hair is tangled in the back and there are streaks of makeup on her face. “What happened?” 

“You…you had a night,” is all Brienne says. “Do you want some water?”

Sansa nods, yawning. She shuffles to Brienne’s couch bed, stretching out like a cat in the afternoon sunshine.

“Hey Brienne?”

“Yes, Miss Stark?”

“Can you call me Sansa?” She takes a large gulp of the glass of water Brienne offered her. “You saw me in my underwear last night.”

Brienne feels her cheeks and ears burn in shame. “Miss Stark— Sansa— I am so sorry. I just…I wanted to make sure that you slept well— and you had vomit on your dress and your shoes were making your feet swell and—“

“Brienne,” Sansa smiles. “It’s fine.”

An awkward pause as Sansa smiles in the sunlight.

“Do you want to get some lunch?” Brienne blurts out. “Maybe some pizza?"

“How about shellfish?” Sansa offers. “I love shellfish.”

It’s Brienne’s turn to glow in the sunlight.


End file.
